


Running Up That Hill

by JUBE514, MusicalDefiance



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Explicit Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OT3, Porn With Plot, Smut, and it makes no sense but i mean why not lmao, and you mash em together, sometimes you just love three boys, we literally have no excuse for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JUBE514/pseuds/JUBE514, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/pseuds/MusicalDefiance
Summary: "And Akechi, he just feels like a puzzle piece they've jammed into the mix. He doesn't fit, he doesn't connect, the cardboard ends crinkle and fold between the other two, like they're desperately trying to fit him in between but it justwon't work.."In which Goro Akechi has feelings™ andhates it.





	Running Up That Hill

**Author's Note:**

> We honestly have no excuse for this. This is what happens when you leave two Big Bang participants unattended and left without strict moderation on their deadlines. It was fun though and I hope you like it as much as we ended up liking it.
> 
> "I have no regrets." -Jube, 2018
> 
> Also a gigantic thank you to [Bubblebangbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebangbaby/pseuds/bubblebangbaby) for editing this massive work for us. She put a ton of work into it and we could not be more appreciative of everything she did for us. Please also be sure to check out her works because they're all super amazingly good ("No Prayers for November" is a huge fave just saying). Love you, Vodka!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It shouldn't have ended up like this.

There's no reason. Frankly, it's inexcusable. The fact that fate even bothered to afford him any sort of luxury or pitiful desires is just beyond him, but it does always seem that no matter where he goes or what he does, fate doesn't often lead him down the path he wants or expects.

Goro Akechi should have died that day. His name should have been lost to the shadowy underworld, lost in the minds and hearts of the people surrounding him. And yet it didn't, it isn't, and he's still here. He's still breathing in the same air as the rest of the world, whether he wants to be or not. And he should see this as a blessing, but every moment his eyes are open feels like another form of punishment, another sting of guilt because he _should not be alive_.

But he is anyway, and it's largely because of them.

Not a night goes by where he isn't wrestling with the memories of that day, all those months ago. That point where he was lying on the cold floor, beyond ready to let the ocean swallow him up, rush in past the metal he rested his fading consciousness upon. The screams and cries of the pitiful Phantom Thieves group, banging against the metal wall, begging for him to return. How he could hear Joker the most prominently, doing everything to convince him he'd made a mistake, to please come back, but it was far too late. He was going to perish. He was going to allow the universe to force him to pay for his actions, not out of remorse, but because he was just so very tired of it all.

The world never had a place for him, and it never would, regardless of how much he wished deep down that it could. It was better to disappear.

But he didn't, he survived. Even what felt like days later when the shadows had long left him to rest, he was still there. He was aching and starving and fading but he was alive, and to this day he still can't decipher what it is that brought him to move when he felt the ship shaking, when the water breached the hull and licked at his limbs, but he still did. And it hurt but he _ran_ . It hurt but he _tried_. And there was absolutely no reason that he should have, but he still felt compelled to anyway, somehow fought his way up to the surface.

And then he saw Skull, hanging from the ship's end. He saw his friends cheering him on, calling to him that they were on their way to him.

He saw the explosion.

He jumped.

He saved him, before he could even think to save himself.

Skull was warm in Akechi’s arms, warm from the fire that still burned around them, warm from the blood that covered them both. He’s still not sure how he held him above the water for so long, but the debris around them was bound to be fine to support them, at least for a little while.

Akechi takes in that warmth, the feeling of Skull in his arms for as long as he can. Takes in the sunshine and the press of another weight against his own even as his broken arms strain against the effort.

And he gets to a piece of the wreckage that’s floating, and pulls Skull onto it, into his lap.

He’s still holding onto him as the worn leathers turn into a soft shirt, still holding onto Skull when he turns into Ryuji.

Akechi’s hands shake when he lets go. He can hold onto them to save them, but not when his job is done, when Ryuji is safe and back in the real world. But he gets no time to think about that. Not when a flood of people surround him. Not when bodies crush into him, sobbing and crying and surrounding the two of them in what can only be described as an awkward mess.

It's overwhelming. It's loud. It's _terrifying_. He's waiting with bated breath for the angry screams and shouts to reach his ears, the inevitable punches to make their way onto his bruised and broken body.

They never do.

Instead voices are hushed but enthusiastic, and he's pulled from the fray, almost tenderly, and immersed in warmth he never expected to feel. One set of arms specifically holding him close and tight, black hair pressing against the side of his face, and another joining from behind to completely suffocate him.

A soft, "You're alive... I can't believe you're _alive_."

An even softer, "Dude... You— you _saved me_." from behind.

His heart is racing, fear prickling through every inch of his veins because no, _no_ , this isn't right. They shouldn't care about him. Ryuji's the only one that matters, the only one that they trust and need. He just acted on instinct. He didn't intend for this. He didn't want this. No, stop, _no, let go,_ **_please_ **.

He doesn't get to start struggling or get away from them before he passes out in their arms, the weight of the world and the reality of his wounds finally overtaking him.

That was where it began. It's not how it should have ended.

Akira handles him gently, like Akechi’s a centuries old tapestry falling apart at the seams. Gentle hands, soft, softer than Akechi’s own, travel his back, his arms. Fingertips trailing in long pulls.

Ryuji’s hands on Akechi are rougher but more frequent, softer paps, taps, drags. Ryuji uses his palms, tapping quick and fast.

Sensations rise and fall in his semi-conscious mind. They wrestle him from his nightmares and wrap him in blank nothingness. Nothing but haze and cotton replace his thoughts. When he wakes he's covered in linen that smells like detergent and a lingering scent of fresh roasted coffee beans. There's no light, but there are noises, gentle breathing, coming from two bodies on either side of him, keeping him close and warm and not letting him leave.

He wants to. He can't. There's more than one reason why.

Now months later it's still the same. The unimaginable and unnecessary fondness from a loud blonde and quiet black-haired boy has somehow only grown. He'd always known Akira and Ryuji felt so deeply for one another, a realization he'd had early on when some sort of heat in his chest would rise upon seeing them both, but their togetherness would dash any hope he'd have before the strength of his resolve in his revenge ever could. He had no excuse for that anyways, he had a mission to complete that had no room for distractions.

But there was an unlikely friendship that formed. And then an unrealistic bond that matured into more. From the moment he'd stepped in to save who he had once seen as nothing more than a vulgar teenager who couldn't give him the time of day, or when he relented to whom he once called his greatest rival and chose to fight by his side. From the point where he'd accidentally gone and shoved his way back into their lives by making one unconscious decision, there was suddenly no turning back.

And that Christmas Eve where they'd both held him and suddenly kissed his lips, each in turn, in solidarity, was equally the best and worst night of his entire life.

The sequence of events that follow can only be described as blurs and fuzzy pictures.

Akira is arrested. He comes back.

Goro Akechi is pronounced missing and possibly dead. He isn't, but his name has to be.

Ryuji somehow convinces Akira to stay in Tokyo rather than returning home. Akechi doesn't help, but deep down he's beyond relieved that he succeeded.

Goro assumes a new alias. None of the Phantom Thieves refer to him by it in their private quarters.

Akira and Ryuji confess openly to him in early twilight, him surrounded by their warmth, yelling at them for making such a stupid decision and crying angrily into their shoulders when he doesn't know what to say back.

He's not allowed to let things be like this, not when he doesn't feel remorse for what he's done. Not when he's angry and miserable and is completely sure he's bound to go manic and kill everyone in his sights in the dead of night. When he's toeing the line between calm and crazy every minute, second, _millisecond_.

But instead he just lives. That's already crime enough in itself.

Tokyo is a loud city, and it has more people than it does anything else. He can blend into the crowd and become just as much a nobody as the rest of the world that surrounds him. So he does, becomes the nothing the universe seems to want him to be and evaporates along with who he used to be like he's nothing but a distant memory to the city that once kissed at his shoes.

Every time he sees a poster with his face on it he shudders and fights the urge to tear it down and rip it to shreds. But he just keeps walking, pushes the mask up over his nose even further and pulls his ponytail tighter. Being cold and alone is something he’s used to, but it's very different now when it seems like no one knows he exists.

At home it's different though.

It started out very small. He'd go back to the apartment and open his phone to see text messages from them both, wishing his day had gone well, asking him if he wants to spend the night out. He ignores them more often than not, because everything is still weird and he can't comprehend it. But eventually those messages turn into unsolicited visitors in his home. Text threads turn into two boys waiting by the door and grabbing him by his shoulders, either pulling him away and out into the streets for the night or inside to a cooked meal and light conversation, no matter how much he fights and protests.

Akira Kurusu and Ryuji Sakamoto are incredibly persuasive, something he can only credit them for. An irresistible force to his immovable object. If you entangle yourself with them, there's no escaping their grasp. Right from the beginning he starts to learn that the hard way.

Ryuji’s grip on his wrist is always warm, tugging him this way and that. Akechi tried to wiggle out of it once or twice, but Ryuji’s fingers are strong from handling weapons in the Metaverse, from finding the edges of a skull mask and tearing it away with a vigor so intense it could knock down buildings.

Akira directs him with soft nudges, a hand pressed against his back that pushes Akechi into the small apartment so that he and Ryuji can whip up a meal with whatever the hell’s in his fridge this week. He never stocks it, it just _happens_ to end up that way. Akira’s hands linger when he pulls away, fingertips tracing something that only he can see.

(Are they the lines of an old white princely dress uniform? The twisted black lines of spiked chaos?)

Akechi hates the way they touch him, the way the two of them invade, invade, _invade_ his space. Hates that Ryuji’s toothbrush is on his bathroom sink, hates that Akira has a favorite mug.

But Akechi also hates that none of his items have found their way into Ryuji’s room, none of his clothes hide away with Akira’s. His spare charger isn’t placed onto Ryuji’s power strip, Akira doesn’t steal his shirts and keep them somewhere for himself. All those little things they do with each other, but not with him.

Akechi hates that they have infested his home, his time, his space, his _life._ And yet he can’t seem to return that insult, that... favor.

The more the physical affection grows, the more he pushes it away. He has to, he _can't_ . Them touching him like this is too intimate, too genuine, too caring in a way that he can't accept. Akira rests his hand on his leg and he pulls away like the touch burns. Ryuji places an arm around him and he runs away like it's painfully cold. Stares hard out from the rest of the group when they try to link his arms or take his hands. They scare him into backing away, scare him into running into bathrooms with his eyes shut tight and his head in his hands, heart and body racing, pounding, _reeling_ , taking forever long to calm down.

Both of them are made of fire and passion. The more they touch him, the more the ice that protects him melts.

If it melts all the way, he's unsure what he'll have left over. What might be exposed by the glacier’s retreat. He doesn't want to find out, not _ever._

And yet, those gestures aren't lost on him, and he can't break away from the awful, aching pressure he feels in his chest as he watches the two of them together. The way that Akira laughs and lays his head into the crevice of Ryuji's shoulder. The way Ryuji slips his hand into the back of Akira's jean pocket and snickers when Akira yelps as he squeezes. The way that they're always a tangle, even in the public eye. The way that their souls seem to link together, both physically and spiritually, no matter where they are or how they're feeling.

And Akechi, he just feels like a puzzle piece they've jammed into the mix. He doesn't fit, he doesn't connect, the cardboard ends crinkle and fold between the other two, like they're desperately trying to fit him in between but it just _won't work_ . And he _didn't ask for this_. He didn't beg them to pull him into this sorry excuse for a trio, they did that all on their own. It makes him want to lash out, to scream, to yell at them for being so stupid and acting like this makes any sense, as if he isn't anything but a burden on what should be a happy relationship between the two of them.

Sometimes he does, and he prays this is the time they'll finally abandon him.

It never is, they never do.

Akechi screams at them to just _stop_ , because he _hurt them_ , used his weapons, caused scars on their bodies he can still see when the weather turns too hot and they strip down to their shorts. Akechi screams at them, backs away from their affection like a child scorned, unsure of what it means, how they'll use it against him later down the line. Akechi's standing on a pillar of sand, and he feels it crumble with every second that they spend in his company.

Ryuji has the decency to scream right back, voice loud beyond the bathroom door as he yells at Akechi to just _open it_ , that it'll be okay, that this will pass like it always does. Ryuji always matches Akechi blow for blow, word for word, frustration with frustration. The two of them are explosive in different ways. Akechi with the tangled true snarling rage of hate and pain and Ryuji with the tit-for-tat anger of a wronged and enraged child.

Akira's softer though, he always is. When Akechi fights back hard, when days gets bad, Akira's soft shoulder slump says disappointment, says that he had expectations of Akechi and he’d had failed to meet them. Akechi yanks back, pushes away, and Akira's eyes get that watery grey as he turns away just so. And Akechi knows that he's hurt another person he's loved, but he can't seem to stop the words that spill from his mouth.

But hurting is all he knows how to do, and all he _can_ do. It was what he was made for, what was destined to become his path. The gods gave him his powers to do nothing but cause turmoil and destruction, there was never any room for things like love, understanding, and patience. So what the hell do they even expect from him? To just let all of that go? To forget all the memories of people he's driven mad, hurt, brought to their _death?_ Did they just _forget_ that he very nearly did that to _them?_

But seconds turn to minutes, and then minutes to hours, and even in the height of his breakdowns he does fall back to the ground, more dented and bruised than he was before, but they never care. They're always so attentive, nursing him back to health that he doesn't deserve and pushing out the bends in his framework. The crashes still leave their marks, but at least they're not quite as visible as they were before.

The guilt he feels when Ryuji holds him to his chest and Akira wraps his body around them, both quietly sleeping while he's sandwiched between... it's _so much_ . He's the reason they're exhausted to their cores. _He's_ the reason they fight, why they break, why they can't just be and feel normal for one second in their goddamn lives. And yet they keep him here, like a baby bird with a broken wing that they have every intention of healing like one of their own.

There's some bubble of appreciation buried deep in his chest every time he thinks about it too hard. He's too terrified to let it out, because maybe they'll come to their senses and realize this whole charade is ridiculous, and they’ll push him out onto the street to fend for himself where he belongs.

It's what he deserves. Why won't he speak up about it...?

Why is he such a fucking coward?

So he takes what he can, when he can, while the others don't look.

Akechi's not worthy of their love, of their affection, but he steals some of it anyway.

He hates that he can't just steal what he wants without the guilt building, to just take what he doesn't begin to think of deserving. He was a damned Phantom Thief once, it should be _easy_ , but it isn’t. Still, even now, it isn’t.

But he has to, he has to steal what he can, has to snatch what’s offered before the two dangling it truly notice.

He presses his face into the pillow Akira used last night when the two of them leave for the day. He makes sure it’s dry when they come back at night. Later, he shakes himself apart, wrapped tight in Ryuji's purple hoodie that he left on accident. Akira's brand of soap has found itself wedged in the shower between Ryuji's brand of shampoo and Akechi's preferred conditioner. Akechi steals time with them by explicitly fixing his work schedule around their senior year of high school, making sure he's available for them to intrude on his life, rather than him being the intruder.

Akechi takes in what he can, how he can, because he knows that he shouldn't.

He's never been good at denying himself. Not when he first betrayed them, and certainly not now.

One night when he finds his way back to Leblanc, almost like he's magnetized there, it's raining. The water is relentless and fierce, and there's no time for him to dry off between getting on and off of the subway.  When he makes it into the cafe, he has no doubt he looks awful; hair clinging to his neck and face and to Akira's borrowed hoodie— so soaked that it sticks to him like a bodysuit. Akira leaps from behind the counter so fast, regardless of how many customers sit in their booths, and urges him upstairs, pushes him into the center of the attic just before pushing his trusty box of clothing Akechi’s way.

He can't help thinking that Akira's just doing this because he looks like a mess, and that it reflects badly on him, letting pests and vagrants come into Sojiro-san's store when he's left in charge. He has to push that thought away, though, when Akira hugs him tight and kisses his temple, promising to be back with something to warm him up.

Goddamn Akira. He always has to go and make _everything_ a mission to make everyone around him feel like an inconvenience, doesn't he?

When he rifles through the clothing, it's all too, well, _comfortable_. Akira wears nothing but soft and worn fabrics, each one of the pieces feeling like it’s been lived in forever. It’s an uncomfortable juxtaposition to the crisp shirts and pressed pants he had become so accustomed to in the past few years. The comfort of it, the ease, seems to sink hidden claws into him, tear into him somewhere deep in his gut, because it's such a nice feeling, one that he can't and shouldn't be allowed to swaddle himself in. These are comforts that are saved for those who have earned and deserve them, and he has yet to do that.

His heart sinks even further when he finds shirts and pants that he knows belong to Ryuji. Nothing of his resides there. Like always, he doesn't belong, and he never did. Never will.

But that garbage effort at denying himself the things he wants most surely won't end tonight, as he looks through the box and finds a sweatshirt that smells the most like Akira, and pants that Ryuji either left or Akira "borrowed" from him. Covered top to bottom in items that don't belong to him, but ones that were handed off anyways, he hears the small voice in his head telling him that he needs to worry, that he can't let them know he's done this or he'll get caught and they'll throw him away like everyone else has so flippantly.

When Akira comes back upstairs with coffee and a full plate in hand, he turns to him and honest to god expects a scolding. Instead all he gets is a firm push towards the couch and a compliment of how cute and sleepy he looks.

Akechi eats his meal with Akira pressed next to him. His brain is a typhoon and he can't figure out if he wants to yell or cry.

Somehow he manages to do neither.

Akira eventually presses a kiss to Akechi's forehead, hand carding through messy damp bangs for the briefest of moments, before he's moving away, mumbling something, incoherent words pressed against Akechi's skin, and then he’s slipping away towards the stairs.

Akechi's too zoned out to register what’s happening, he only feels Akira's movements, feels Akira’s comforting warmth moving away from him.

His frenzied mind panics, knows that he's pushed too far now, pressed the wrong thing, really ruined everything this time. He's going over every single interaction he's ever had with Akira, with Ryuji, with them both together. Akechi's mind skips, twists. He's trying to find what broke this thing they had, why Akira's pulling away. He can't let Akira do that, he doesn't want Akira to leave.

Akira's already halfway down the stairs before he can get his hand up, to grab onto, to grip, to not let go—

Akechi crumbles in on himself, pulls his knees to his chest and feels that ball inside him crack, feels that compressed bundle of emotions shatter.

Akechi's never been a loud crier, couldn't have been— crying never got anyone's attention, just drew more ire. Shido, that hateful excuse for a man, always punished Akechi when he broke like this. The nursemaid he’d “gifted” was always too tired, too fed up with how terrible it was trying to please such an annoying child, too numb to even respond. Akechi breaks quietly, silently, pulled up tightly and trying to assemble that pain in his chest back into something he can handle, shoving the pieces of a terrible puzzle back into a horrible facsimile of a whole.

The more he tries to put the emotions back the more they slip through his fingers, escaping into the world against his will. The terrible mess of feelings spill over like an overflowing cup, and he has nothing to put the mess back but his own hands.

"...came in looking like—  Goro?" That's Akira's voice, the worried tone making Akechi look up.

Akira and Ryuji are just at the top of the stairs, peeking over the railing with wide eyes. Akira's moving, arms already reaching out to embrace him with Ryuji not far behind.

This isn't the first time it happens, and it won't be the last. He's made that clear before, when this whole thing started and every time in between, and he never has a good enough explanation for himself.

_"I'm just tired."_

_"Work was really hard today."_

_"I'm sorry for worrying you, I really am fine."_

_"I just... need a minute."_

They're never satisfied with him when these are offered, but it's all he ever has. He can't bring himself to just speak up, to say something, to ask for all of those things he's too scared to ask for. To accept that he wants them, that he _needs them_ , the touch and affection and security. Instead he just makes excuses, lying through his teeth that he doesn't need anything more from them than what's been given and acting like he doesn't lie awake at night wondering when they're both going to decide that they've had enough of him.

They're all so young, so stupidly goddamn young. He can't and shouldn’t expect them to manage the emotional instability he forces onto them daily. Not when they have their own problems— not when he catches Ryuji sitting up late at night in bed rubbing at his thigh, or wakes to Akira tossing and turning from nightmares that _he helped cause._

Akira's hands carefully wrap around his head and neck, pressing Akechi's face into his chest, right on the soft material of the grey Henley— one of Akira's favorite shirts. Akechi scolds himself for getting it dirty because Akira never seems to yell at him for things he deserves.

Ryuji's arms wrap around Akechi's middle, pulling his hips into his lap and pressing his head into the hollow of Akechi's shoulder blades. Akechi tries not to shake too hard, tries not to dislodge Ryuji's careful butterfly kisses.

He just shakes, sobs, his breath hitching in his throat as his hands stay at his sides, fingers twitching in aborted grabbing motions that never really get to go through.

He feels like he's had far worse than this, but even days later they're still looking at him carefully. Their eyes bore into him, burn with a concern that he's seen aimed in his direction more than once, but definitely not for this long. It makes him more nervous than he should be, the crazed part of him that rests deep down clawing inside of him, rising up to the surface and begging him to run away before he can get hurt by whatever decision he's sure that they're coming to.

He pushes himself even further away in response— ignoring text messages, staying inside, going to work and returning straight back home like it's the only place he has to go. It's lonely and maddening and it makes him so sick he actually vomits once or twice, but he has to reject them before they can reject him. He can't go through that again.

It's already happened to him more times than he can count. If he has to do it one more time, has to experience that with them, he'll... he might just...

He'll leave the thought out for Akira and Ryuji's sake. They would hate for him to think like this.

Or at least, he prays that they would.

Akechi's coworkers notice the pained gaunt of his face, his boss comments on it even. He can't bring himself to care. He's sleeping like shit without the two of them warming him on either side, eating like shit without them there to remind him to eat at all. He knows he looks like garbage, knows his entire existence is wearing thin without something to push him.

Akechi withers without something to strive for, he becomes a nothing wisp of a person with no real direction or goals.

It takes about a week before he gets home from a long shift, throws his bag down on the counter in the kitchen and flicks on the lights of his one bedroom apartment. He's got his head buried in the stack of mail he’s thumbing through as he heads to the living room, but when he gets there he looks up and nearly panics as he sees that Akira and Ryuji are there, sitting on his couch, waiting for him.

"How did you get in here?" Akechi's voice is pointed, hard, sharp.

Akira raises an eyebrow, cocks it up in such a way that Akechi knows exactly what he's thinking. Ryuji's hands twitch in that peculiar way they tend to do when he's done something he wasn't meant to do.

They broke in.

They broke in to talk with him.

Akechi's mind races, because they can only really be here to talk about one thing.

"Goro," Akira starts, and he's ready to _bolt_. The window is right there, and so is the door, but one is certainly more enticing than the other because it will absolutely lead to a quicker and more painless death.

There must be an absurd amount of panic in his eyes, because Ryuji stands up, moving to the side like he knows he's about to run. His hands are up defensively, as if ready to catch him if and when he falls. Akechi’s heart is fucking _racing_ , everything in him screeching to abort, _abort,_ **_abort_ ** _._ But instead he's stuck looking between the two of them, trapped in between their gazes and breathing in quick and harsh.

"Goro, please." Akira tries again, standing up with the other two and holding his arms out in front of him. "Everything's okay, relax. We're not here to upset you or hurt you. We wanted to make sure that you're okay."

Akechi just gulps. "I-I'm fine. Please just—"

"Bullshit." Ryuji speaks up, turning his attention away from Akira. "You've been ignorin' us for days. Feels like every time we try to call or text you don’t pick up and it ends up goin' straight to voicemail." Ryuji leans on his left leg like he does when he's uncomfortable, scratching the back of his neck. "I dunno if we did somethin' wrong, but I know you've been avoidin' us. We wanted to see what's goin' on with you. This ain't like you, not this bad."

Akechi hates the look on his face. The genuine concern that glazes his eyes and the pout twisting his lips. He's making him feel bad. Akechi's the reason Ryuji’s unhappy. Like he _always_ is. _All he ever does is hurt them_.

Akira's moving, reading Akechi like a book, footsteps soft and a hand tugging at the small curly hairs near his ear. "Goro."

Akechi can't.

He can't allow Akira, allow Ryuji, allow _them_ to talk to him so softly after he's messed up yet again. Akechi's made them feel terrible, made them feel uncomfortable, bad, miserable.

"Nothing's wrong." Akechi manages to stumble out, already knowing how pathetic that lie sounds even to his own ears. "I'm just busy, r-really— "

Ryuji's a mirror to Akira as the two of them lean into him, softly, carefully, as if Akechi's a wild animal that they don't want to scare off.

 _Oh_ , but Akechi preens under their warmth, the weight of them both, the way he feels so right clutched between the two of them. This is what he's missed, what he's not gotten for _six full days_. His heart thuds in his chest, trying to continue its job even as that terrible wiggling ball of emotions bubbles up and threatens to spill over.

Ryuji's breath tickles Akechi's neck, his soft lips brushing against his throat with every inhale and exhale. He can see the bags under Ryuji's eyes when he closes them. Akira's hair is wild as always; maybe its tangles are a little worse than when Akechi last saw them, a little more unruly. That black tangle, that thicket of hair catches on Akechi’s own, merges with it somehow. Pulls him in and stakes its claim.

"Tell us if this is okay," Ryuji's words wrap around Akechi's throat, brush against his skin. Akechi can feel the movement of Ryuji's lips as he speaks.

But it isn’t, it’s _not._ He can't let them do this. He cannot by any circumstances allow them to taint themselves with the horrorshow that is Goro Akechi any longer. Not Akira's perfect happy demeanor that's a soft and comforting cushion to every person he meets. Not Ryuji's wonderful bright smile that he shines towards literally anyone that passes him by. It's not okay. It will never be okay.

But he's shaking under their weight, their touch, and god he cannot stop himself from wanting to just press himself into every goddamned inch of it. That animalistic part of his brain is telling him it's just another cursed thing that he can and should indulge in. Let them both take and make and undo him, leave him with nothing, because that's what he deserves anyways, isn't it?

His mouth moves before his brain can keep up with him, a tiny, pleading, "Akira, Ryuji..." ghosting across his lips. Whatever else he's trying to say gets caught and lost in his throat before he gets another chance to speak, and _god_ he is so fucking terrified.

But their warmth is so close, so prominent and inviting, and there’s nothing he can do to convince himself that he doesn't want and need this. That he hasn't been fucking craving every bit of this and more, for days on end as he kept himself under well-deserved lock and key. He can't. He _can't._ **_He can’t._ **

The word escapes him anyway.

".. _.p-please._ "

Akira's hand is slow, painfully slow as it tightens around Akechi's shoulders, threads those long elegant fingers through Akechi's hair. Ryuji's just as careful, hands settling on Akechi's hips, the weight of him leaning heavier, close against his side.

Akechi can't lean into it, he can't, he's not deserving of their forgiveness after making them feel so terrible. But he's never been good at denying himself something he wants. Something he needs.

He's nearly crying in relief as they settle into each other.

Nearly.

Because Akira and Ryuji reach a certain point and they both just, stop. Their motions halt, hands still, weight carefully held. They both wait.

Akira hums a question into Akechi's shoulder, a grey eye sliding open and looking up questioningly. Ryuji's eyes are trained on Akechi's facial expressions.

"Do you want more?" Ryuji asks, voice pitched low. Akira's hum gets stronger, as if tacking on a _"Hm?”_

Akechi's mind stutters, firing off a million suggestions—

_(Yes! Keep going! Please! No! It's too much! This is everything I've wanted! It'll just hurt more when it's gone...)_

—the emotional roulette wheel lands on anger, his default.

"You're testing me." His shoulders tense, anger at himself, at his own presumption, bubbling in his chest.. Of course they would do something like this, he's made them mad. This is their little game, to rile him up and watch him break and say _'yes please'_ so prettily as they deny him this. He won't be a player in this, he won't bend to another’s whim like this again.

“No.” Akira’s voice is soft, but firm. His eyes are leader-sharp suddenly, brows lowered. “Not testing.”

Akechi’s anger doesn’t ebb. He’s backed into a corner now and he’s always been one to fight.

“Then what is this? Is this a _game?_ ” Akechi’s hands shake, trapped between the two bodies pressed against him, shivering from anger, from embarrassment, from something he can’t name. “Is this a joke? A way to get one last laugh out of hanging around poor old broken me?”

Akira's hold tightens, Ryuji’s shifts. They have that look on their face they both get when Akechi reveals his true ugly nature to them. It’s not ... disgust. Not truly. It’s not anything incredibly fond either though.

“Absolutely not.” Akira says. “We’re trying to pull you in closer, Goro, not push you away.”

Akechi’s rage fluctuates, just for a moment. Like the flame of a candle being blown but not put out.

“You never touch us.” Ryuji says, low, hurt, “We just wanna know why, but if you really don’t want us to—“

Ryuji starts to pull away, just slightly.

" _No!_ " he all but screams. He doesn't know where it comes from, but it's loud and piercing and has both of them jolting around him.

Fuck, they're really playing him like a goddamn fiddle. Like they always do. _Like everyone does_. But the second he feels Ryuji start to pull away he's panicking, far from able to fully express what he means, what he's after.

What does he do what does he do _what does he DO?_

But somehow, miraculous as can be, they seem to understand, and Akechi’s pressed back tightly between the two of them again as Ryuji scoots back into place. The shivery breath Akechi lets out in response is the most humiliating thing in existence, but he can't help it. Relief is washing through him like a potent injection shot right into his bloodstream.

He can't let them. But he _needs_ this. But he's so scared. But he is _dying_ and they're everything he _needs_ and he can't let them _but he has to_.

"Goro, please..." Akira breathes, and his breath is so gentle and warm against his neck that he has to choke back some noise that's threatening to burst out of him. "We can't read your mind. _God_ , sometimes I wish I could, but you have to tell us what you want." He nestles closer, one hand inching further across his shoulders and the other scratching careful against his scalp, his motions all comforting. "Anything you want, if you want us to leave we will, but if it's something else..."

"We can do that too." Ryuji's smiling voice supplies, his fingers starting to rub circles into Akechi's shirt, against his hips. "Just speak up, you can do it."

His mouth has been sewn shut for years. He's never been one to complain, to ask, to _beg_. All disgusting behaviors he's had to work immensely hard to shut out of his system, for his own sake and the sake of the more unfortunate careers he's had to take up. Goro Akechi doesn't ask for anything, he doesn't take what he hasn't earned… save for all the things he's taken that hurt someone else in the midst because it's all he knows how to do. Those things that are all he'd ever allowed himself because he's disgusting and deserves to be seen that way. He's never asked for it to be different.

But _fuck_ . **_Fuck._ ** It's that god forsaken self-indulgence. It will never leave him, will _never_ let him hear the end of this if he lets it go. It's the only fucking excuse that he has that would let this go even a centimeter further.

He wants it to go further. He _needs_ it to go further _._

He wants to feel like they do. He wants to feel _loved_ , no matter how little he deserves it.

And he can't control himself when his body shudders between them. He definitely can't when he kisses Akira and feels Ryuji's lips immediately latch onto his neck from behind.

This is how Goro Akechi can let himself be destroyed.

Akira’s always so precise with his kisses, so careful, so controlled. Kissing Akira is like kissing a porcelain doll, his perfect little Cupid’s bow pressing into Akechi’s chapped lips.

Ryuji, however, is _bruising_. His teeth are sharp points as he nips along Akechi’s exposed neck, burning points of contact as he seals his lips over very visible spots and sucks hickeys into them that Akechi will have to work to hide for weeks to come.

Akira’s hands wind further into Akechi’s hair, combing through the tangles, soothing the anger that still bubbles up underneath the desperation. Ryuji’s fingers grip Akechi’s hips, his thumbs’ idle circling dipping closer to his waistline, slipping underneath the pressed, starched fabric of his shirt for a moment before  flitting back out again in such a teasing motion that Akechi wants to just grab him by the wrist, shove Ryuji’s whole arm up his damn shirt, press it close against his chest.

They slow again though, eyes on him.

“Is this okay?” Ryuji asks again, voice much more neutral than the heat of last time. “Do you want us to keep goin’—?”

Akechi strips off his shirt in response, yanking and loosening buttons in his haste to undo them all.

Like that was ever even a fucking question.

Nothing holds him back anymore. He clutches their bodies to his, hungry, afraid. As if when he lets go they'll just disappear from his grasp or make his fears come true that it was all a ruse, that they're playing him for a fool and are ready to walk away at any moment. He drinks in Akira's lips and lets him lick back into his mouth. He lets Ryuji pull the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders and run his hands across his chest possessively. The heat threatens to scorch him alive, burning incessantly both internally and externally and melting away all the barriers he's worked so hard to keep up.

He'll regret it— _he won't_ — he'll hate himself later— _he'll never feel bad ever again_.

Akira's mouth leaves him, and the fear bubbles back up inside of him, losing that physical presence brings him reeling back because oh god this is finally it isn't it, this is where they leave him. The fear calms when Ryuji's lips immediately make their way up and press against his own while Akira's mouth runs along his jaw, down his chin, against his neck, licking and sucking against the spots that Ryuji had already left before and making him moan shamelessly into Ryuji's mouth. Both of their hands skate across his torso, the front, the back, tips of fingers and thumbs dipping into the waistband of his pants but never moving further without his permission.

If he wasn’t here, if it was just the two of them alone, they'd be naked on the floor by now. He hates how careful they are with him. _He loves it._

His grip shows desperation and hunger, and he doesn't know where to leave it. He grabs at the front of Ryuji's t-shirt. He pulls at the back of Akira's hair. He's insatiable, clinging to anything he can grab like a small infant learning how to complete the action for the first time, needing them close and up against him like the only way he'll know they're actually there is by holding them tight. He's thankful that they don't hold back, their own hands just as desperate, like they've been craving this, missing this piece in their life just as much as he's missed them.

What the hell even is his life anymore? How dare he even begin to think that this is okay. It's not okay, it needs to stop, it's _not_ —

He can't tell who does it first, but one and then both of them rut up against his hips, and he can't hold back the shameless needy whine he makes when they do.

He doesn’t want to let go. Now that he’s holding on it’ll take a crowbar and a miracle for him to even think about letting his hands slip from their bodies.  He grabs onto fabric and shoves it out of the way, pushing Akira's shirt to his armpits, Ryuji’s sweats shoved low on his hips.

“ _Please_ —" Akechi gasps into Ryuji’s mouth, “ _I want_ —"

He whines, a high pitched thing as Akira’s hands brush against his chest, thumbs tweaking just right against him.

“ _Tell us_.” Ryuji kisses him, voice even, low, pleading and demanding all at once. “Tell us what you want from us.”

“Anything you want, we’re _here_.” Akira finishes for him. Akechi feels Akira tug at his pants, the stiff button, fingers slipping into the belt loops and teasingly tugging. Akira's head presses hard into Akechi's chest, nosing at his collarbones and kissing his neck.

Ryuji's asking again, silently, hands edging around the waistline of the jeans Akechi wears. Ryuji's hands tangle with Akira's for a moment, the two of them holding onto each other with Akechi right in between them.

Akechi's mind screams at him, wants to break what's happening into a million pieces, but his body's already moving, his hands finding both of his boyfriends’ and interlacing with them.

“L— _ah—!_ Let me _feel you.._.” Akechi’s hands pull at the shirt Akira's wearing to make his point, to be crystal clear about his desires. He’ll ruin them, get his dirty filthy hands all over them and bring them both down against him.

“Please… I _need to…_ ”

Akira's shirt is off already, and his front is pressed to Akechi’s, the spark of skin to skin contact making his thoughts derail, blank out.

Ryuji kisses him once, and then takes off his own shirt, letting the fabric fall beside them in the heap. He presses his chest into Akechi’s back, and Akechi loves the warmth of it, the way his skin drags across both of theirs. The shameful noises he’s making are all the encouragement they need.

He feels Akira smirk against his skin. "I think we need to move."

Ryuji agrees for him while Akechi's words are twisted against his tongue.

Directions are lost, doors are pushed open, and before he really realizes what's happening he's being pulled and lifted into his small bedroom, toward the bed there that’s just barely large enough to fit the three of them at any given time. It isn't like they care though, it's certainly never stopped them before.

He crashes backwards into it, the mix of scratchy linens and warm skin wrapping around him and over stimulating him like mad. He gasps, their heat so potent and waking all of his senses sharp and alive. He has no time to recover before Akira's mouth is on his and Ryuji's is on his chest, kissing the middle, then the sides of his torso, moving to and resting against his nipple and bringing it into the edges of his teeth. He moans and arches his back, all sound being swallowed by Akira's mouth over his, shuddering against them as the other two groan deep in their chests.

Akechi's hands are in Ryuji's hair, tangled in short blonde wisps, keeping Ryuji's downright sinful mouth right where it is. Akira's mouth distracts him before he feels his hands tracing down his hips, nails raking burning red lines that make him _hiss_ . It hurts, it feels good, it _hurts_.

Ryuji's hands start to fiddle with the button of Akechi's pants, his mouth pausing on Akechi's chest for a moment and looking up. "Tell me, Goro, and we’ll keep goin’."

Akechi feels the heat from it, from Ryuji saying his name like _that_ , right into the wet spot where he was just kissing.

"Yes...! _Keep going...!_ " Akechi's hips stutter, pressing up against Ryuji. Akira's breathy laugh gets caught up in another brutal kiss.

They don't stop.

He's burning alive.

Akira leaves his mouth, leaving his lips open and pliant and yearning for contact, but they're bereft for now. Instead his mouth gapes wide as he yells, as Akira dips down to suck his neglected nipple right into his mouth, nipping it gently and laving his tongue over again and again. The noises coming from his throat are reduced to choking and near sobs, one of his hands death gripping the nape of Ryuji's neck and the other grasping at anything else above him, not wanting to hurt Akira by tugging on his long locks.

He's dying, he's living, _he's thriving_.

The hands on his waistband pop the button holding it together, dip down inside and press in, explore through the thin fabric of his underwear. Akechi nearly jolts out of their grasp, having had no idea just how achingly hard and sensitive he was. Someone’s hand— Ryuji's probably— wraps itself around him, the warmth of it seeping through his boxers just so as it moves up and down the length of his cock. Akechi's body convulses.

The friction is nowhere near _enough_ , he needs so much more, but they're fucking teasing him, taking their sweet ass time to undo him, pull him apart into nothing but tattered wires and strings wound too tightly together. Maybe they know this, maybe they'll let this be his grand finale before they just leave him to wilt away on his own.

A finger slips inside of the slit of his boxers and another hand from Akira slides down the front of his torso and past his waistband. _Both of them_.

He's never been touched so directly before. The sound he makes is unholy and desperate and he swears the other two chuckle at it.

He should kill them for making fun of him. He should hold them close and beg them to never keep their hands off of him again.

Akechi doesn’t even realize he’s talking, words spilling out of his mouth, “—please, _please_ , don’t stop, please, _more_ — ”

He’s not sure who’s hand is gently on his neck, Akira’s? He’s not sure who’s hand is teasing his inner thighs, Ryuji?

Akechi just feels the heat that those hands trail behind as they move, soothe, rile up. Ryuji’s mouth is hot as the blonde leaves searing kisses on the red lines Akira made on Akechi’s hips. Akechi wants more though, wants them to get this show on the goddamn road.

There are warm lips moving against his hips, there's fabric sliding down his bottom half. There's a question from one or both of them, clothing stopping just before exposing him to the air of his bedroom, to their eyes and the disapproval of whatever cursed deity he feels constantly looming over him.

"Is this okay?" He has no idea who asks. The question alone has him ready to rocket off into white noise and darkness. Truthfully the most teasing thing they can do, questioning him when he's like this.

"Don't st— _ah—p!_ God, _fuck_ , _please just—_ "

He can't finish before the fabric is gone, before there’s a calloused, warm hand finally, _finally_ surrounding him. One of their way too hot mouths looms nearby, warm breath ghosting across the tip of his cock before it all too gently makes contact. He all but screams, feels unoccupied hands caressing and soothing him as he shakes and cries out, like they're trying to keep him grounded as he loses complete control of himself.

"You're _really_ beautiful..." a soft voice tells him. Akira’s voice..

"Fuckin' _gorgeous_..." Ryuji's voice adds.

He can't agree, not when he feels the gross weight of his sins claw harshly at his back while new ones assault him from the front. He couldn't tell them if he tried though, not when his throat is completely overtaken with broken moans and whines he has no way of stopping.

Akechi’s lower half stutters, jerking up into warmth.

Akira’s hands find his hips, gently grazing across too sharp hip bones before holding on tightly.

His view is blocked by Akira's shoulder and chest, but he feels when Ryuji’s mouth kisses his cock. He jerks, tries to follow that warmth, but Akira's hands hold him in place.

Ryuji licks a stripe, kisses the tip, and takes the head into his mouth. He almost screams.

Akira’s mouth still focuses on Akechi’s chest, and Akechi can feel himself unravel beneath them. Ryuji’s hands hold his legs open just wide enough for him to slide his hands up and down the inside of his thighs.

This is _absolutely_ how he's going to die. He doesn't deserve such a kindhearted death.

Akira suddenly moves up to kiss him again, and _god_ , he hadn't realized just how much he missed that touch because the contact alone has him ready to cry. Akira's tongue takes advantage when he cries out against him, swallowing his noises and moving in tandem to whatever rhythm Ryuji is attempting from below.

He can't believe he hasn't already fallen apart, with the way they're assaulting every sense he has, he should have exploded a billion times over. He's dangling over the edge, held over by the thinnest string that threatens to snap at any moment, and he wants it to break just as much as he wishes they would keep him strung like this forever.

The hands going up and down his legs stop for a moment, pushing them farther apart, and of course he can’t see what’s going on, but he can definitely feel Ryuji’s body leaning back down, his warmth all too close. Akechi’s tongue is tied with Akira's, going limp in his mouth for a moment as all fixation goes directly to where Ryuji’s mouth is going completely around his cock and _sucking_ —

No _no_ ** _no_** he isn't going to _last._

Akira leaves his mouth and moves to favor his jaw, sucking at his neck, a hand sliding down to tweak at his reddened nipple, and he's left panting, sobbing, writhing under every sensation. It's too much and yet it's everything. It's destroying him, killing him, _ruining him_ , and he's never wanted or needed anything more in his entire fucking life.

There's no logic left in him, but the touch starved animal in his brain is pleading, screaming, loud enough to the point where thoughts become words and he's vocal and begging against everything he's ever tried to mold himself to be.

"Akir— _ah!_ R- _Ryuji—ah!_ "

Neither of them stop, but their touch slows, as if they have to so they can focus on what he's trying to say.

His mouth moves quick, terrified the building tension inside of him is going to flit away and leave him barren and empty. " _P-please._ ..! I'm— _ah!— I can't_ — "

They're far kinder than they ever should be, too merciful to a wretch like him. They answer his prayers, paces quickened and touch determined, until he's completely swallowed in everything they're offering.

And then the string finally snaps, and he shoots down into the chasm like he has weights chained to him, coming with a force he'll never be able to describe and screaming their names all the while.

Coming down from this height should be painful, a crash at the bottom with him shattering into tiny indiscernible pieces. It isn’t though; the descent is blazingly fast but slows at its midpoint, as though a parachute's slowly opened from above him. They work him through every second of his climax, sloppy kisses and lavishing tongues, until he's flushed and shaking and almost in tears from how oversensitive he is. The closer he gets to the bottom the more he wants all the touch to stop, but so much of him is still clinging to it all and hoping it lasts until the end of time.

The haze he lives in now is a blessed feeling. He never wants to leave.

Ryuji and Akira do eventually let go and lay on either side of him, arms crossing his chest and hands on the other’s hip. There’s minimal movement, the steady in and out of breathing, shifting to get comfortable, stupidly slow presses of mouths that could be a kiss just as well as could be simply leaning into each other.

Akechi feels wrung out, stretched further than he could snap back to. Too hot and too exhausted to do anything about it.

Akira’s face is pressed into his neck, right where it meets his shoulder, and Akechi has a sneaking suspicion that he’s almost asleep. Ryuji just sighs, content in the moment.

Something in him wants to touch them back, to return the favor for all that's been placed upon him, but he can't. He's exhausted, chest still heaving like he's run a marathon, limbs like jello with no bone structure to lead them any which way. He feels melted, a puddle that's been stepped in and spread out across the ground.

Even more so, what keeps him down is the guilt, the weight in his gut that makes him start to regret everything that he let happen. They're tainted now, with his skin, his scent, his touch, never to be clean again. He's ruined them. He had every intention of letting them destroy him and he ruined them in turn.

They're going to realize it any moment now. The sob comes out of him without warning.

Ryuji’s up immediately, leaning on his elbows and eyebrows drawn up in concern. His weight is still heavy against Akechi’s side and he has to get away—

But Akira’s on the other side of him, thrumming with soft questioning noises and hands that reach to soothe.

Akechi can’t, he’s already done enough, he’s already smeared his sins across them, but he can’t move. He can’t escape. He’s stuck in between the two people who he shouldn't touch and he can’t get away, doesn’t want to get away.

“What’s wrong?” Ryuji asks, low and careful from one side. “Goro, what's wrong?”

Akira’s questioning hum echoes on the other.

He _can’t._

He's lost in his own world, wanting to escape and yet wanting to be nowhere else but here. His mind never lets him have one thing, never gives him the focus he desperately needs to be able to survive these situations, and when struggling in their grasp gets him nowhere, he has no choice but to just relent to the wildfires that are the boys cradling him in their arms.

The ice is melted away, and there's nothing left to protect him. He has no barrier, no protective shield to keep both them and him safe from himself. So they can see him, feel the cracks and chips in his framework that he's tried to keep hidden for years. If nothing’s gotten them to leave before, this undoubtedly will.

He should have told them to leave. He would have been in so much pain if he had, but there's no way it would have hurt worse than what's sure to come.

Had he not been a coward, he might have survived it. He can't promise he will now.

"Goro..." Akira tries, and god could his voice be any softer and sweet? He's never heard something he wants to wrap himself in just as much as he wishes it would strangle him. "Did we... Did we take it too far?"

"We weren't trying to—  I mean, we didn't wanna hurt you, that ain't what we..."

Their affirmations are too sweet. "Please, _enough_..." he manages to choke out. "No more, I can't..."

They both begin to move away, Ryuji scrambling upwards while Akira slides towards the edge of the bed like he's liquid. They’re both taking their heat with them, their easy warmth, their comfort.

Akechi panics, his hands grab onto them both, pulling them, telling them to not go away, please, he can't take it if they go, if they leave, if they abandon him. He can't, he just _can't._ "Please."

They don't move away, but they don't move closer either, simply staying exactly where Akechi himself had put them, pushed away then stopped. Does— does he want them closer to him? Yes of course, yes, please. But no, that'll just make their leaving worse, harder, will make the cold of the bed without them painful. The emptiness of his apartment would be unbearable, the barren life he leads without their color, their flare, would be torture.

Akechi can't deal with his life without them. But can't live with himself either, knowing he’ll only drag them down.

"Talk to us." Akira says, using that soft careful tone of his. "We're not mind readers."

Akechi knows that, but the words get stuck in his throat, lodged right behind his teeth.

"Goro."

The tone is very firm this time, leaving no room for argument. Akira's always been good at commands, to drag people's secrets out kicking and screaming.

A sob slips through his lips again, but words follow it, like a shadow in front of his pistol.

"I don't—" he gasps, like he can't breathe, but a gentle squeeze on his arm pushes out the rest. "I don't understand you two..."

That seems to get questioning looks sent his way. Not that he'll let himself look at either of them, but now, more urgently, they're shifting back to him, letting their skin graze his and their holds tighten around him, and yes, _god_ , he needs it so bad. He knows it'll be so much worse later if they decide to go, but it's the only thing that comforts him now. The trembling only barely starts to subside, and a shaky relieved exhale leaves him like it's being squeezed out.

"The hell's not to understand, dude?" Ryuji asks, moving his hand up and carding his fingers through Akechi's hair. He leans into the touch like he can't help himself one damn bit, but at least it encourages him to keep going, short nails scratching against his scalp. "If there's anybody to not get around here, it's sure as hell you more than us."

Akira moves closer too, one arm wrapping around his waist and a hand twining their fingers together over the top of his, and the touch is so gentle and tender, everything that he knows deep down he's wanted for months on end. It's hard not to melt, to just turn into mush and just let them keep going, either working him up again or just letting him sit in calm waters that he can just quietly drown in. This won't last though, and he knows that.

He's not allowed to be content for long. That's not how his fate is slated.

“I don’t understand how you two can stand me.” Akechi mumbles out, face red with embarrassment, with confusion. “I’m not worth your time— “

“Goro.” Akira cuts him off, frowning. “You _are_ worth this. We wanted this. We want you. We _like_ you.”

“Hell yeah.” Ryuji adds, nails scraping Akechi’s scalp and nearly making him _purr_.

“But—“

“Goro Akechi.” Akira interrupts, voice strong and firm like Joker. “You have not done anything to us that we can not forgive.”

He nearly sneers at that, but a small laugh escapes him instead.

"That's a goddamn lie and you know it," he growls, and he expects them to fall back and away from him but neither of them do. "You—you know what I've done. I've killed friends, families, ones that belong to you. I've done it smiling, laughing, consumed with a power you couldn't even fucking begin to grasp." He looks at Akira pointedly, meeting his eyes which are stern and unfaltered. "I looked you in the eyes and shot you, point blank, and walked away feeling like I'd won everything, like I was finally getting to succeed, like I'd _beaten you_ . How in the hell is that _forgivable?_ "

"Yes." Akira nods, "Yes, you have. Yes, you did."

Akechi's a little taken back by that.

"You were against us before. You hurt us. Badly."  Akira's eyes are pure steel, they don't flick away from his once. "But we've also hurt you too, gave as good as we got, eight against one, and after we fought tooth and nail you sacrificed yourself to save us. You let yourself be broken and hurt so we could get away. You even saved Ryuji’s _life_."

Ryuji shifts closer, his own throat working like he's trying to get words out but is struggling. "You're, uh… you’re kind of a shitty person, ya know?"

Akira's eyes finally flick away from Akechi's now, a low " _Ryuji!_ " hissing between his teeth.

Ryuji's quick to continue. "No like, you're a shitty person. You’re never  upfront with what you want, and you're real damn fake sometimes, but like—" Ryuji pauses, gathering his words, fingers scratching through Akechi's hair still. "You're… I see you work so hard, and you’re real determined. You hit rock bottom and bounced back up all by yourself. You came out worse for it, though, and I don't want to see you have to do it again all alone. The world wasn't your friend but you kept on going anyway, and like, ya know, that's something I'm kinda like, really jealous of."

A beat of silence passes.

"You’re uh… you’re really hot too." Ryuji adds, face red.

Akechi blinks, "...thank you?"

He's not really sure if Ryuji is complimenting him, insulting him, or some kind of wild mix of the two.  Ryuji's face is still bright red, ears burning with embarrassment, he's trying to hide his face in Akechi's shoulder but Akira's hands are on Ryuji's hip and he pulls him back just enough so that Akechi can see the pure unfiltered truth of the statement.

Akira's soft expression is one Akechi's seen a million times before, always directed at Ryuji whenever he does something wild, something so excited and so full of sunshine, like he always does. But Akechi sees Akira's eyes slide from Ryuji's flushed red shoulders over to his, and his face stays with that same soft, warm smile, full of love, all directed right at _him_.

"We care about you, you know. Whether you think we should or not, we do. We know it doesn't always make sense. Hell even we think about that sometimes too, but honestly, have our lives made sense even one time through these past few years?" he asks, tacking on a laugh. "We want you to be happy, and we know that you can be. Maybe not all the time, maybe not even most of the time, but if we can help you be happy for some part of the time you're still on this Earth, we _want_ to do that."

"Yeah," Ryuji agrees, playfully nudging his bare stomach. "Even dumbasses like you deserve to be happy. If we can manage, you totally got a right."

Akechi can't help but smile between them, but he's shaking his head in pure disbelief. "Why in the hell would you ever think something like that? After all I did... After all I still do... The fact alone that I'm still here is a crime against humanity."

"Well, I like you being here." Akira states. "I think I could go as far as saying Ryuji does too."

"You could say somethin' like that." Ryuji says with a leering grin. "Definitely could have worse people around I think."

Akechi looks at them, both of them, glancing from one pair of eyes to the other, looking at him with such a sweet, unguarded touch of fondness that no one's ever given him before.

He can't help it, he starts laughing, but for once it's light and airy and without a hint of fakeness looming in its tone.

"Honestly, I don't think I've ever met any two people dumber than the two of you."

It looks like they can't help it either, because they start laughing too.

It’s nice, the way Akira's shoulders shake, the way Ryuji's stomach moves, these boys laugh with their whole selves, and Akechi likes being able to feel it against him.

Something wells up within him, building up in his chest. Akechi's never been good at figuring out his own emotions, but he's pretty sure this emotion is fondness, a soft spot for the two in his bed.

He likes the weight of them, likes the sound of their laughter, and he figures that maybe, just maybe, he can get used to this too.

"So, are you ready to start bein' honest with us then?" Ryuji asks him, bringing Akechi to look at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Honest about what?"

"You know what I mean, ya nerd. Or are you still gonna try and dance around it?"

Akechi blinks, looking at him and then Akira, both of them sharing knowing looks and yet again leaving him lost in the dark.

"I don't..."

Akira sighs, but it's far from annoyed or dismissive. "You want to stay with us, don't you?" he asks gently.

O-oh... _That_.

How can he even be honest about that? Does he? Of course he does, absolutely, there’s nothing in life that he could ever want or need more. But the guilt, the worry, the feeling of inadequacy that rests in both his heart and mind every time he's ever around them. It burns its way through his veins, pumping like blood as if it's the only thing even bothering to try keeping him alive.

He doesn't deserve them. He will _never_ deserve them.

But they're here anyway. They're here and they're staying, no strings attached, tender and willing and able. They gave everything to him, drowned him in intimacy and affection, things he could have only ever dreamed of and more. And it won't be enough to keep him sated, not for long. Not when he's gotten the feeling of it, the warmth and the heat that it's brought back into his life, even if only for now. Sex is great but it's far from magical, one instance is not going to keep his horrid screaming mind at bay.

The only way that he can survive is if he's with them. He knows this. There's literally no good way to say it.

"If I stay with you it won't be easy." Akechi mumbles, his face halfway pressed into Ryuji's shoulder. "I'm a terrible person to love."

And that's one of the truest statements he's ever said, in all senses of the word. Akechi's hard to love because he doesn't love himself, he doesn't love _living_. But despite everything, one way or another, he does love these two idiots. He loves them with an all encompassing passion, loves them like he can never love himself because of how different they are from him, how separate they are from everything he is and will be.

Akechi hates that he loves them, hates that he can recognize that feeling, but knows that he's not going to be able to stop the buildup of soft warmth in his chest anytime soon.

And more importantly, he hates that they love him too, but...

He supposes there's not much he can do about that now.

"Well, guess if we've loved ya this long with all the bullshit you've already done..." Ryuji starts, bringing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer.

"Then I guess we'll be alright if we keep going." Akira finishes, wrapping his arms around them both.

Akechi doesn't say anything more. He exhales, resting between the two of them, between their warmth, praying that it will swallow him whole and he can just stay like this until time inevitably comes to an end. Or at the very least, until they decide the going gets too rough.

But they don't. True to Akira's word, they keep going.

Months pass, but things don't stay the same like they used to.

Good days and bad days range here and there. Akechi will argue with grand certainty that he still has _far_ more bad days than good, but if nothing else, bad days have a much more likely track record of ending on better notes. He's still no good at communicating, still never willing to be completely open about what he wants and what he needs from them both, but the difference is that he does _try_. Newly encouraged medicines will take him as far as they can, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he was the most diligent about being on top of them, but at the very least he has someone behind him reminding him he has a reason to be around.

The relationship changes too. The small things start to become more frequent. A hand on his shoulder, a kiss on his cheek, a shirt borrowed and never seen again, a night spent together where he's left gasping and begging for more more _more_. They start to pick up on his ticks; the things he likes and doesn't like, regardless of how pouty he acts and how much he tries his damndest to play it all off like he's fine and content without it.

Goro Akechi has always been a fantastic fake, but he's starting to lose his edge. The three of them are likely to disagree on whether that's a good or bad thing.

But, it's definitely not all bad. Not on those nights when he's reading a book in his bed and Akira rudely snatches it from him, gathering him up so he can pepper his face with kisses, tangling up his sweatshirt until he can’t do a thing but slap back at him uselessly. Those same nights where Ryuji joins them, catapulting himself right next to them and nearly bouncing him off of the mattress just before he obnoxiously smooches him and leaves him gasping for air, the three of them unspooling into a tangled, laughing mess. But the difference is that he's _laughing too_ , enjoying their presence, living in the moment and allowing his guard to be let down, for once in his stupid life.

None of it makes sense. None of it ever will make sense, honestly. But as long as he has them, the weight of the world won’t be nearly enough to crush him down and keep him groveling at its feet.

Regardless of whether or not he deserves them, _they_ deserve to be happy. And if he has to stay to make that happen, he supposes he can let it be.

It’s the least he can do.

**Author's Note:**

> "You don't want to hurt me,  
> But see how deep the bullet lies.  
> Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.  
> Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.  
> Is there so much hate for the ones we love?  
> Tell me, we both matter, don't we?  
> You, it's you and me.  
> It's you and me won't be unhappy."  
> - _"Running Up That Hill", Kate Bush_


End file.
